Like something dark and dangerous.

I pull the hood over my head and step out into the night. It's time to find Jenna before Kara does.

Chapter 39

The line of CabBots is short. Seven or eight at most. I walk to the last cab, and a line tender waves and yells at me, "Front of the line! Front of the line!"

I ignore him and bend down to the driver, who opens his window. "I'm looking for a Mr. F."

"Is that a new restaurant? I don't have it in my database."

I shake my head and move on to the next one, repeating my question. The line tender is still yelling at me but not moving from his podium that is sheltered from the rain. The CabBot shakes his head no, and I move on.

The third CabBot lowers his window when I knock. "Go to the front of the line," he says.

"I'm looking for a Mr. F. Can you help me?"

He smiles and nods, but it's a smile that makes me uneasy. Not like Dot's. It is slow and dawning, and distant. He turns back to his panel, pressing a spot that expands and blinks. "We got ourselves a Runner here. Come pick him up." He reaches out and locks his hand around my wrist.

"What--" I try to pull away, but his grip is like an iron cuff.

His distant smile returns. "You think we don't know their code words? I get points for every one of you I turn in. Five more, and I get legs."

I feel a rush, my head flooding with my own dawning realization. Never show your weakness. I put my foot up against the side of the cab for leverage as I return his grip, grabbing his wrist with my hand. "You better use those points for arms," I tell him. There is only a split second of confusion on his face before I pull, forcing my weight with whatever inhuman strength Gatsbro and BioPerfect gave me in one direction--away.

There's a quick pop, and then as I twist sharply, the artificial flesh tears, and the exposed blinking tendons hiss and crackle. The horror on his face is only a flash, because I am already running into the night, his arm attached to mine. I conceal the ripped arm beneath my coat, blindly running into the dark, and soon I'm swallowed up by pounding rain and the unknown. Needles of rain sting my eyes as I look for any sign of stars or moon for direction, but there is none, so I just run and never look back, the Bot's hand still gripping my wrist.

Chapter 40

Where are the stars?

You can make it a few more miles. Just a few more.

My pace slows with each step. I ran for the first hour without stopping. Like a bat out of hell, my dad would say. That pretty much describes it. I'd still run if I could, but running was not something I ever trained for. For the last two hours, all I've been able to manage is a steady walk. I spot a dark storefront doorway to duck into and rest. I eat a protein cake and swig down a bottle of energy water in two gulps. At a time like this, I could curse Gatsbro for making me way too human, but instead the weakness of my hunger strengthens me. It's a reminder that I'm right. I eat, therefore I am. I'm human. I am one of the Eaters and Breathers.

So is Kara. Has she eaten? She ran off without any money. If not for Miesha's money card, I would have nothing either. Is Kara hungry and huddled in some dark corner too, but without any food? How is she surviving? But Kara is resourceful--and determined. She will find a way. I have to believe that.

I finish the cake; the Bot arm is still attached to mine, and that is my next task. I rummage through my pack with my free hand and find the Swiss Army knife. It was another thing Miesha gave me at the station. "It used to belong to my husband," she said. "It's all I have left of his. He had lent it to a friend, and the friend saved it for me all those years I was in prison. It got Karden out of more than one jam. Put it in your pack."

I knew the knife meant a lot to Miesha, but I took it anyway. I need all the help I can get. It's already gotten me out of one jam by destroying the iScroll. I hope it can handle a Bot arm too. I examine the knife more closely. It has several different tools, some the same as the ones on my grandfather's knife, but also a few that I don't recognize. I decide to stick with the old-fashioned blade. I begin prying and cutting away the arm, piece by piece, finger by finger, sometimes digging into my own wrist to accomplish it. Beads of blood form where I dig too deeply. Eat your points, dirtbag. I finally break his greasy thumb loose, and the arm falls to the ground.

I wipe the knife blade clean and eye a fuel station across the street, watching it for activity. At this time of night, there is none, only a lone Bot attendant attached to a pay console. I work up the nerve to cross the street and ask where Oak Creek is. Without a star in the sky, I just hope I've been running north. The Bot is as catatonic and uninterested in me as a real clerk working the night shift, and just as short on words. "That way," he says, pointing. But it's enough. At least I know I am headed in the right direction. A light blinks on the panel of his console and he adds, "Fourteen miles."

Fourteen miles? Fourteen more miles on top of how far I've already come?

I am wet to the skin. The coat was no match for rain whipped by wind, or for the multiple times I stumbled and fell into knee-deep puddles that I didn't see in the dark. My legs ache, and the stab in my side grows. I try not to think about the BioPerfect that may still be oozing out of me into the gauze. I look in the direction he pointed. I'm going to be walking all night.

Even in his Bot stupor, he seems to read my thoughts and says, "CabBots or free shuttle, one block east." I nod, pulling my pack up higher on my shoulder, and my hood farther over my head. I walk away, stepping back into the rain. I can't take a chance on any more CabBots or even the free shuttle north. I'm sure the one-armed CabBot scanned my ID when I got close to his cab. It's worthless to me now.